


The Captain's Chair

by ReincarnatedEgyptian



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Boys In Love, Cheating, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Infidelity, James T. Kirk & Nyota Uhura Friendship, M/M, Pining Kirk, Pining Spock, Poor Kirk, Post-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Dancing, Star Trek: AOS, Starship Enterprise (Star Trek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReincarnatedEgyptian/pseuds/ReincarnatedEgyptian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of their five-year mission together, and Kirk has still not shared his feelings with his first officer. But one encounter on the bridge will change all of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Captain's Chair

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: UPDATE: If you read the original version I posted, as of September 4, I posted a newer version with more scenes. 
> 
> This is based off of an idea I've had for years and years regarding my number one OTP of all time, but now that I'm older, wiser, and a (slightly) better writer, I knew as I was driving home recently that it was time. I wrote this stream of consciousness, so any initial errors I accept responsibility for, but I had to get this out. In a perfect world I would continue this story forever, with Spock and Kirk kissing each other and whispering sweet nothings for a million words. But I also love angst, and the depth that angst can bring, and I wanted that to be the case here in this one-shot. I hope you enjoy it, because this is the most fun I've had writing in years, and I would love to write—and WILL write—more romantic Spirk scenes in the future. They more than deserve it. And I know that Spock cheating on Uhura is quite OOC, in reality, (well, in Star Trek reality), but this premise has been with me for years, and I knew I wanted to write it this way. But I love Uhura with all my heart. I want her happy as well. So this is in no way any sort of dump on her. I’m planning a sequel piece at some point, and to this day (September 3) I’m not sure if I’ll have Spock tell Uhura or not. But again, expect angst. I also own nothing you see, except the hotness that is the sex scene in this fic and the romantic heartbreak.

Jim can't place when it happened, exactly. Obviously, sometime in the last five years, between their first meeting in that cold, unfriendly auditorium, Jim's ego wounded by Spock's words, his anger swelling as his father's name was practically besmirched from beyond the grave—or in George Kirk's case, the vastness of space. Jim knows he didn't feel it then. He could not bring himself to exactly hate the half-Vulcan who stood beside him that day, but he know for sure that love was not even within that hemisphere of his thoughts in that moment. 

Of course by the time Nero had been obliterated back to hell, Jim knew there was a mutual respect between the two, that would grow into fondness, admiration, and a type of brotherly love. And as Jim saved the ship—and his family—from annihilation by Khan’s and Admiral Marcus’ hands, he admitted that Spock was foremost on his mind—and in his sight—as he briefly entered into death. Because he could not let Spock die, would not let Spock die—Spock and the crew had come too far to turn back now, to not become who they were meant to be. 

Even as Jim crouched next to Spock as McCoy fixed Spock's broken body with the U.S.S. Franklin's rudimentary tools, his hand firmly grasping his first officer’s arm, he didn’t understand the wave of heat that traveled up his arm at the touch, and in that moment, didn't care; he needed Spock alive, and he needed his crew safe and sound once again. Even when the two could not admit to one another, in the privacy of the lift ride they had taken together thousands of times, that they planned to leave each other for different pinpoints in the galaxy, he had not yet realized what had happened—how his mind had changed. How his heart had changed. 

But if Jim had to guess, had to, on pain of death, pinpoint exactly when he had fallen in love with Spock, he would say it was in those quiet moments on duty, as the bridge crew and often, a grumpy Bones, were surveying whatever planet, space station or anomaly they were headed towards—or whatever unidentified object was making its way toward them. Spock would often leave his science station and stand next to Jim, his body rather close for the distance that half-Vulcans typically prefer, his expression simultaneously neutral and yet somehow tense at all once, in many cases. Perhaps it was the line in his jaw, or the way his lips were pursed, or how his eyes crinkled ever so slightly. Vulcans may act like they never expressed their emotions, but Jim knew from staring at Spock so much that that was complete and utter bullshit; they wore their hearts on their sleeves, even if they were incredibly subtle about it. Jim had even noticed, during their moments of teasing one another or engaging in banter, Spock’s lips subtly turning upright, his eyes brimming with joy, even as he tried to remain stoic as possible. 

It was in those moments that Jim’s heart had opened. One day, he looked up at Spock standing next to him, and realized he loved him, had loved him. That was that. 

And that was all it could be, Jim thought, as he listened to Uhura, Spock standing next to her, explain how she’d proposed to Spock in her own way, giving him a necklace that belonged to her ancestors, just as he had given her the Vokaya necklace that belonged to his mother. The pair and the rest of the crew were in the ship’s mess hall, which had been magically transformed into something of a mix between a swanky bar and a ballroom—at Jim’s insistence. The party, of course, was for them, but was equally for the crew, as tomorrow they would be docking at Starfleet Headquarters after completing their five year mission. 

And as Jim listened to Uhura’s story, his gaze occasionally drifting to his first officer, he knew that no matter how many years Spock and Uhura were married, no matter how many little babies they popped out and raised into exemplary linguists and science officers, no matter how little or how much of Spock Jim might see from this point onward—as Spock and Uhura planned to remain on terra firma once the Enterprise docked on her final day, but where specifically on terra firma Jim didn’t know—Jim knew he would always be in love with Spock. 

For a brief moment, Jim shifted his gaze from Uhura to Spock once again.

Mistake. Because this time, he found that Spock was already staring at him, Spock’s expression unreadable and intense all the same. And as the two stared at one another, Jim felt the cold in his chest expand at the thought of not seeing Spock again, not having Spock.

Not loving Spock, fully, as he wanted to. 

He mentally shook himself from thoughts that would send him spiraling downward, slapped on a dazzling fake smile—being a captain of a starship ensured that you learned how to bullshit to the best of your ability, especially when it came to your crew's lives—and turned his attention back to his glass of Andorian ale as the pair left were they were standing to procure some food. And as the fake smile plastered itself on Jim’s face, even with his best acting abilities, he realized he couldn't fool everyone with his charm—especially someone who was immune to bullshit. 

Specifically someone like Bones, who was arriving back from what appeared to be his thirtieth bathroom break of the evening ("You try dealing with a damned bladder infection, and then tell me how many trips to the bathroom you've gotta take!") and, as he plopped a seat down next to Jim, with the subtlety of a supermassive black hole, said, "Dammit, Jim, what's the matter with you? Feeling space sick after all this time?” Bones paused for a beat as he took in Jim’s glass nearly filled to the brim. “Now normally I'd be tellin' you to slow down on the drinking, but uh, that glass looks a little bit too full for the Jim Kirk I know.” 

Jim’s smirk widened at the comment, although the smile did not quite reach his eyes as he examined his glass. "Just a half a sip, Bones. Gotta keep my wits about me for tomorrow. Can’t be puking as Barnett makes his final inspection, can I? That’s not the Jim Kirk you know.” 

Doctor Leonard McCoy's expression hardened as he studied his friend’s smile, which was starting to make Jim’s mouth hurt. See? Immune to bullshit. 

"Look, Jim, I know it's going to hurt like hell, everyone parting ways and all, but you said Commodore Paris is still considering sending us back out there at some point, right? I mean me, I'll go kicking and screaming before they throw me back out into the damn abyss again, but hey, that outta perk you up, right?" 

Jim nodded halfheartedly and took another half a sip of his drink. "I just don't know how many of us will be returning,” he finally admitted. 

Bones followed Jim's gaze to the couple across the room. "Who, Spock and Uhura?” he scoffed. “Jim, come on. You know those two won’t be able to stay away from science and space for that long. How long do you think Spock will last without the ability to piss people off? Hell, how long do you think he’ll last without you?”

Jim’s hand with his glass froze midway to his mouth at Bones’ last sentence.

“I bet before they can even talk about popping out some little ones Uhura will be begging Spock to return to the Enterprise anyway,” McCoy finished. 

At the mention of 'little ones,' Jim pressed his glass to his cracked lips and took another sip, feeling what would typically be a deep warmth from his sip turn into an unpleasant aftertaste. It was something that not even Bones knew about, Jim’s falling in love with Spock. At this point, so late in the game that Jim still didn't want to say it out loud—to himself, to Bones, to Spock, to the universe, to anyone, much less himself. What good would it do anyway? So Jim attempted to push his pain to the recesses of his mind and return to a lighter tone of conversation, even if it was entirely bullshit and he could feel the ache in his heart widening.

"Yeah, Bones, I’m sure he’s all torn up. Being engaged, about to get out of here and…” Jim gulped. “And make babies, and find a cure for cancer and an undiscovered galaxy all in the same year. I’m sure he’ll be mourning me every step of the way.”

Bones turned to him. “Jim…”

Jim swatted his hand. “It’s fine, I’m fine! Just making a joke, promise. It’s just going to suck with some people gone. But hey, I've always got you, right?" Jim slapped his friend's shoulder, hoping that would be the end of that and that Bones wouldn’t press further about his obvious bitterness regarding Spock.

Bones poured the rest of his Saurian Brandy down his throat in one fell swoop. "Unfortunately."  
Jim smiled—he knew Bones meant it. And he was grateful his friend hadn’t pressed the matter. 

For most of the rest of the allotted time scheduled for Spock and Uhura's party, Jim managed to avoid contact with his first officer and Uhura, instead opting to talk to other members of his crew, including a few transfer ensigns he'd never really had a chance to meet before, a few Vulcan diplomats on their way to Earth who politely listened to Kirk attempt to speak in standard (thanks to Spock’s teachings), and what was essentially a one-sided conversation with Keenser, accompanied by Kevin, who was still, after all these years, refusing to wear pants. 

Unfortunately, Jim’s embargo against Spock could only hold for so long as the party guest numbers diminished and the room became closer, quieter. Jim was just finishing up a discussion with Scotty about the modifications that would need to be made to the replicators before another possible mission in the future should Commodore Paris approve his request, when Uhura, with Spock in tow, came up to Jim and planted a kiss on his cheek before enveloping him in a hug. Jim couldn’t help but feel his heart swell. The two had come so far from their antagonistic banter at the Academy to truly becoming the closest of friends. He realized he would miss Uhura almost as much as he would miss Spock. 

Spock. 

As he returned Uhura’s hug, his eyes met Spock’s again for the second time that evening. Spock may, to the untrained eye, have appeared completely neutral—but to Jim, who knew every contour of his face, Spock now looked…miserable. But why…?

Jim mentally chided himself as he stared back—of course Spock was miserable. He would be leaving the crew tomorrow, including his captain—everyone he had come to know over the last five years. It was only natural to be sad in a general sense. 

But still, in that moment, Jim wondered if Spock knew exactly what Jim was feeling; if he knew how Jim felt about him. 

But before Jim could think on it further, Uhura pulled away from him but continued to grab his arms tightly, her expression one of genuine gratitude. "Captain, we can't thank you enough for hosting this," she said. "It really is going to make tomorrow that much harder." 

Jim’s smile grew. ”That was the whole point, lieutenant." 

Her smile widened as well, although her eyes too betrayed a sadness. “So what are you planning on doing for the next few months while you await Commodore Paris's decision?" 

"Well, you know, a little of this, a little of that. I told my mom I'd make a trip out to Riverside to see her for a bit, and I'm sure something or another will go wrong back at Fleet headquarters, and I'll be called back before I even set foot on a shuttlecraft bound for home. How about you guys?" 

Jim fully expected Uhura to respond, and in truth already essentially knew the couple’s plans, but was surprised to hear Spock’s voice instead. It was the first time he’d spoken to Jim all evening.

"We intend to remain in San Francisco for a short time. However, we have discussed the possibility of traveling to New Vulcan in order to continue the efforts of keeping Vulcan culture alive through the teachings of the Vulcan language and scientific customs at the Academy," Spock said, his eyes seeming to search for something in Jim’s, and Jim felt the hole already in his heart open ever so slightly. 

"How—" he cleared his throat. "How set are you guys on this?" There was a time that Jim knew the couple would not tell him anything regarding their personal lives, even in the early days when he tried to pry just to tease Spock, but five years in space had the tendency to break down barriers between a captain and his crew, and he had no qualms in asking them, since they were about to cease being his crew members anyway. 

"Well, nothing is set in stone for the moment, but it's looking more and more likely at this point," Uhura replied. "We're still waiting to see how a few things pan out for the time being.” Jim couldn't help but notice Uhura's hand briefly and subconsciously touch her stomach before reaching for Spock's hand, who took it with no hesitation, despite the sensitivity and sensuousness of Vulcan hand-touching—essentially, the couple were making out right in front of him. 

Jim pretended not to notice Uhura’s stomach touch or where her hand was now, and instead took another small swig from his glass.

"I'm sure Ambassador Spock would be honored by that," he finally said, mustering up the courage to smile directly at Spock, who did not return it; in fact, he looked even more upset than he had a few moments before, an actual frown forming briefly on his face. Spock seemed to realize this, and his expression quickly slipped back into one of neutrality, although Jim was not fooled. 

The trio made a few more comments to each other about their upcoming plans and their excitement and dread—excitement for Spock and Uhura, dread for Jim at having to make a bunch of speeches and complete a bunch of tasks following their docking—before Jim was called away by Sulu, Ben and Demora, who wanted Jim to enjoy a piece of cake with them, and for Jim to autograph Demora’s stuffed Enterprise toy that she’d kept all these years—which Jim happily did. The trio planned on spending some time in Japan before possibly returning to Yorktown to ensure that Demora got the best education the galaxy could provide. 

Jim was listening to Ben talk about his own Botany work when his attention turned toward the center of the room, which had been set up as a makeshift dance floor for anyone who wanted to partake. The mess hall sound system was playing a classical tune that Jim didn’t quite recognize but sounded familiar enough, and there in the middle of the dance floor, were Spock and Uhura. Jim was surprised to find that they were using the typical form for dancing, with two hands clasped, the other two pressed to each other’s backs, considering how touch-sensitive Vulcans are. It showed just how comfortable the pair was with one another, Jim realized, although it crushed him to do so. Uhura had her head in the crook of Spock’s neck, and at one point she lifted it to press a kiss to Spock’s ear, Spock smiling lazily at the floor. 

Jim knew he should turn away, should stop looking. For one, he wanted to give the couple their private moment (well, as private as it could be with dozens of others in the mess hall), and two, he was being a damn masochist, making himself a witness to this. But he couldn’t look away, couldn’t take his eyes off of the man he loved, no matter how painful the image might be. It was then, for the final time that night, that Spock looked up, and his eyes connected with Jim’s. His lazy smile faded, his mouth slightly opening as if he were just on the verge of saying something, anything, although what he would say Jim didn’t know. The miserable look he wore earlier returned to his features. Finally, he closed his mouth, but his expression remained, his eyes still glued to Jim, who felt he should do something, anything, in that moment, but continue to look at Spock. 

He was rescued by Demora, who was offering Jim another piece of cake, which Jim declined. Given how quickly he’d downed his drink, mixed with the heartache pumping through each artery, each vein, in his body, he knew he wouldn’t be able to swallow a single bite. He turned his attentions back to the three, and didn’t look the couple’s way again until he saw them leaving the mess hall hand in hand a few minutes later. Neither one of them looked back. 

After a while Ben and Sulu left to put Demora to bed, Jim was left to shoot the shit with whoever remained, until it was just him and Chekov cleaning up afterward, Jim insisting that Chekov hit the hay for their big day tomorrow, and Chekov insisting that he wanted to "be inwolwed in the cleanup process in any way he could, cyepteen." If he was able to return to the Enterprise as soon as possible, Jim hoped Chekov would be one of those who chose to return, too.

***

The docking of N.C.C. 1701-A was an extravagant affair, with Jim's thoughts properly preoccupied throughout the next day as he helped escort his crew off the ship, gave an impassioned yet funny speech to admirals and lowly cadets alike at the Academy about the crew's time in space, and assisted the engineers in checking the specs of the ship before it was due for an overhaul. He'd returned to his quarters set aside for him that night—the vastness of space had been his address since the Nero incident—and shut the blinds to the brightness of the San Francisco nightlife, sitting down on the edge of his bed, feeling his muscles relax in a way they had not done since he was just a street rat in Iowa looking for babes and bar fights when he could. 

And it was there he sat, for nearly an hour in nearly complete darkness, the sound of honking cars outside the window and laughing of people walking outside his room a calming cacophony as his mind remained blank and yet filled with memories all at once.

Shaking himself from his reverie of a particular mission from a few years ago involving a planet that allowed any person's fantasies to come true, Jim looked at his bedside clock. 12:51 a.m. If he wasn't going to sleep now, Jim knew it would be after dawn before he could close his eyes and find rest without the aid of one of Bones' sedatives, which were usually thrust upon him by the good country doctor against his will after his brain would not let him sleep for days at a time. 

Jim stripped himself of his uniform and put on some civilian clothes in the form of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, which felt both comfortable and familiar and yet so foreign to him after all this time. Even his Starfleet-issued robes and sweatpants he wore for exercise while serving on the Enterprise somehow found a way to be uncomfortable and too rigid.

The Enterprise. 

Jim collected his PADD and room key before leaving his room swathed in darkness, his presence essentially going unnoticed by the few who remained in the lobby as he made his way out into the cool night air across campus. He found it odd; for years, throughout multiple ship's logs, Jim had talked about the necessity of true gravity, real warmth from his own sun again, and the smell of pure earth, once he returned from their five-year mission. But now that he had had experienced all of those things in less than 24 hours, he longed for the facade that the Enterprise provided. You don't know what you've got till it's gone, he supposed. There was another reason he missed the Enterprise already, but he forced that thought to the very furthest reaches of his mind. 

Jim made his way to the hangar and typed in the security code that allowed him back onboard his ship—she would always be his ship. Even at this late hour the crewmen working on her had all gone home for the night. According to his own observations—and what the logs revealed—he was the only one about to be onboard, which is just how he wanted it in that moment. He made his way to the lift that led him to the bridge. And with only her essential lights on, even the bridge was eerily dark, save for the light from the hangar coming through the window. 

Jim took a seat in his captain's chair, the feel of jeans instead of his pressed pants against the seat so alien to him now. And it was in that moment, sitting in his captain’s chair, that Jim felt every year, every mission, every loss, every gain, every moment of diplomacy, every phaser fire, every heated exchange of words, every hilarious exchange of jokes, every burden, every bright sunrise from foreign stars, every beat of his heart, every time he had locked his own blue eyes with dark brown ones, all at once, and he let the tears spill as he sobbed into his hands. Five years poured out of him. Five years condensed into five minutes. 

His sobs had eventually turned into whimpers and shallow breaths as he gazed out at the view before him, his heart aching for the view of starlight instead of steel, when the lift to the bridge suddenly opened. Jim stood up immediately and found his sapphiric eyes once again locking onto the benevolent brown eyes of his first officer. Or former first officer. At this point neither of them knew for sure. 

"Spock," Jim mustered before falling silent, one hand on the arm of his chair to steady him. Given his sudden rush of emotion, and his feelings for his former commander, he didn't know what he might say next—what he could say next. Especially since they were all alone…

“Logically, I believed there to be an 84.73 percent chance that I would find you here should I enter the ship’s bridge, and her logs proved me correct," Spock said, almost softly, as he slowly stepped away from the lift doors and towards his captain. 

The light of the hangar articulated Spock’s features, and Jim felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight. It was a face he had seen a thousand times, and yet each time it held new surprises for him—new shadows cast along a most familiar face.

Jim steeled himself, unsure of what he might do, but knowing what he wanted to do, which was to reach out to caress each of these new shadows on Spock’s face before pressing his lips to Spock’s. But instead, he opted for professionalism, or, at least, a platonic conversation as he attempted to bury within in the mix of pain and love that Jim felt—that he would never not feel. Such a marriage of pain and love would not be ideal for the rest of Jim’s life, however long that may be given his return from death, but it was all Jim had. He would take the pain of loving someone he could not have before surrendering those emotions to indifference. He could never be a Vulcan, in that way. 

"Yeah, I uh, I just couldn't say goodbye yet, I guess,” Jim finally mustered. “I mean, you're on a ship for five years. It’s your gravity in a place where it doesn’t technically exist. It's not like you can just up and leave it without a second glance. Well, unless you're Bones, it's not." 

Spock inclined his head and gave Jim what Jim had always thought of as a half-smile.

"Indeed. I believe upon arriving at the space dock I heard Doctor McCoy give what I have heard referred to as a ‘warrior cry’ while he collected his things." 

Jim laughed despite himself. "Yep. I can definitely see that. Definitely see that…”

The pair lapsed into silence, Jim’s gaze falling on a spot on the floor just by Spock’s fleet-issued boots. He suddenly found the idea of having to make any sort of conversation with Spock infinitely more challenging than any enemy the Enterprise had faced. But he also knew it might be his last chance for…truth be told Jim didn’t know how so long. So, finally, Jim looked up at Spock, his heart soaring and aching at the locking of their eyes once again. 

Don't ask him what he's doing here, don't ask him what's doing here, just tell him you need to go and get the hell outta here, Jim told himself. 

"So, uh, what are you doing here, Mr. Spock?" 

God dammit.

Spock took the steps up the pad towards the captain's chair before stopping about a foot in front of Jim, Spock’s hands behind his back in his typical Vulcan-y stance. Jim attempted to gulp subtly at the proximity, and wondered if Spock felt the electricity between the pair that Jim had felt for….as long as he could remember. Even when it had been a negative electricity, like when the pair had first met, or when Spock had nearly killed him on the bridge all those years ago, it was still there; a spark that Jim knew would never be tamed. 

And in that moment, the idea of losing that electricity, that spark, to Uhura, to children, to New Vulcan, was almost too much for Jim to take. 

"I wanted to…" Spock appeared to hesitate momentarily, as if at the last second he changed what he was going to say. "…make sure that you were okay, Jim," he continued. Jim's heart wrenched at the use of his first name rolling off of his former commander’s tongue. It would be a name he would miss from Spock’s lips. "During yesterday's festivities you appeared to be what I would describe as distressed. Of course, such an emotion is logical, given the end of our mission, but as your first officer, it is my duty to inquire about my captain's well-being." 

“Well, you didn’t exactly look peachy yourself,” Jim challenged, almost daring Spock to explain his own emotions from the previous night. 

Spock inclined his head again. “As a Vulcan, captain, you know emotions, even during such circumstances, are not—“ 

Jim waved his hand nonchalantly. “Alright, alright, Spock, I get it.” So he wasn’t going to get anything out of Spock. “And I was your captain, Spock. Now, I’m not so sure. And it sounds like you’re not either.” Jim felt a tinge of anger seep into his voice, and he realized that not only was he sad, but part of him was also unfairly bitter about the possibility of losing his first officer, his friend, his brother, his Spock, to something else and someone else. He realized he had no right to be, given that he had never told Spock how he felt, but feelings, as they both knew, were illogical. 

Spock studied Jim for a moment, as if he was looking for something in his’s expression. "Yes, that is correct, Jim."

"And being half-Vulcan, you'd know that, logically, so since you're not my first officer looking into the well-being of his captain anymore, why are you here?" Jim internally chided himself for continuing to push the issue. He should be glad that the man he loved was in his presence for at least one final time. And, if he had the courage to be honest with himself, he wanted to see if Spock would reveal anything to him, anything at all, about their relationship with one another. No matter what that relationship may be. 

Spock took another step forward, and even though Jim's instincts told him to take a step backward, he found he could not. Would not. "Because you are my friend," Spock said simply, echoing those same words he had all those years before, as Jim’s life slipped away from him. Jim unconsciously closed his eyes, swallowing at the memory. 

Because you are my friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. 

Jim couldn't take it anymore. Nothing else he could say, nothing else Spock could say, would heal him, would heal the wound that those words had flayed open. Instead, there was only what he could do. And what he could do, and did, in that moment, was take a step towards his first officer, and, closing the gap between them, pressed his lips to Spock's, his arms reaching up to cup the sides of his former first officer's face. As he pressed his lips to Spock's and felt all of his tension melt away, he also felt an immediate rush of guilt. He shouldn't do this, they should not do this. He had years to tell Spock he loved him. And forcing a kiss on him was not the way to do it. And he knew Spock should not kiss him back. Spock was engaged. Spock was set to make little quarter-Vulcans with Uhura. Spock was set to be light years away from Jim. 

As these thoughts bombarded him all at once, Jim forced himself to release his hold on Spock, and push himself away, running his hand through his hair as he took in Spock’s expression, which appeared to be one of anger. 

"Spock," he managed, worried that he had severed their detente forever. "I am so sorry. I had no right to do that. And I-" but Spock didn't seem to care that Jim was sorry, and closed the gap between them once again, his own hands cupping Jim's face this time as their mouths moved together. Jim felt the strain of tears behind his eyes building at the reciprocation of the kiss, which was soft, warm, and exquisite. And as their lips moved together, Jim felt that same spark he'd felt for all these years once again in the connection of their lips, the feeling practically a live wire connecting the pair as his own arms wrapped themselves around Spock, clawing his shirt as his own lips parted for Spock's tongue to explore Jim's mouth. 

Eventually, after a few minutes of kissing so intense that Jim actually felt he needed a break, Spock provided him with one, trailing his lips along Jim's jaw, planting a kiss to the base of Jim's right ear before turning his attention to Jim's neck, his tongue and teeth knowing exactly where to kiss and suck, eliciting quite the moan from Jim as he felt himself harden, although, truth be told, he may have felt himself at least half-excited from the moment Spock entered the bridge. That was just the kind of effect this half-Vulcan man had on him. He wanted Spock. All of Spock. Always. 

As he moaned into Spock’s embrace, he realized this was not enough. He needed more of Spock. All of Spock. He gingerly reached for the hem of Spock’s silly shirt and lifted it up over Spock’s head. Spock did not object, and Jim realized his first officer’s neck was devoid of one African necklace. He took in Spock’s naked chest, his breathing heavy, Spock's flushed green skin complementing the redness of Jim's neck from Spock’s kiss, before Spock returned the favor and ripped—literally ripped—Jim's t-shirt from his body, Jim realizing in that moment that it wasn’t anger in Spock’s eyes after Jim had kissed him.

It was hunger.

Their mouths met together once again as Jim's hands nervously fiddled with the hem of Spock's pants. As their tongues tangled, Spock pushed Jim's hands away and pushed the pants down to the floor himself, kicking both them and his boots away from him. Jim, still in his pants, broke the kiss to stare down at Spock's impressive throbbing cock. He had to admit that over the years he had wondered what a half-Vulcan cock would look like, taste like, feel inside of him, and he was surprised to find that Spock's cock, albeit tinged green, resembled any other terran cock that Jim had seen and had worked with. And he could definitely work with this.

Impressed by his own strength against the Vulcan strength of his former first officer, Jim pushed Spock's naked body into the captain's chair, barely letting Spock settle in before he took Spock's cock in his mouth all the way to the back of his throat, his tongue making lateral laps against Spock's shaft, the taste of pre-cum already hitting his tongue, a warm sensation spreading through his limbs. He didn't know that much about Vulcan mind melding and transfers, but he knew in that moment that somehow some of Spock's own pleasure was being transferred to Jim, and he could tell his own cock was already leaking thanks to the shared pleasure. He wrapped one hand around his own cock and pumped as he cupped Spock’s balls with the other. As Jim continued to bob his head along Spock's cock, his tongue swirling over the head, lapping up whatever Spock had to offer, his former commander made sounds that Jim could only describe as whimpers amidst a heavy array of sharp inhales and exhales. It was like music. 

Then, just as Jim had removed Spock's cock from his mouth and was pressing kissing kisses down Spock's shaft, heading for his former first officer's balls, he found himself lifted from the floor and thrust into the chair himself in two swift moves, his pants yanked from him and thrown onto Sulu's chair as Spock returned the favor by swallowing Jim's swollen cock in one solid motion, Spock humming against Jim's cock as his tongue worked its way along the veins in Jim’s shaft. 

Jim felt himself emit pre-cum briefly before it was snatched up by Spock’s tongue. With a loud suck sound, Spock let Jim’s cock drop from his mouth before pressing light kisses against Jim’s shaft before kissing Jim's balls, his left hand continuing to pump Jim's cock. As Jim ran his hands through his first officer's bowl cut, he couldn't help but be impressed with his first officer's technique, and wondered if Spock had read up on how to do this, or if he knew how to do this from experience, although Jim had always suspected that Uhura was Spock’s first and, up until this point, only lover. But then, as Spock's tongue found its way to Jim's taint, he realized he didn't' give a flying fuck about any of that.  
After a few minutes of this, Jim felt his balls tighten, and realized a release was eminent. 

"No," he whimpered as he grasped Spock's shoulders in an attempt to get him to stop. Spock took the hint and looked up to Jim, his bowl cut uncommonly messy, his eyes continuing to gleam with that insatiable hunger. 

"I want to cum inside you," Jim said. "Here." He gestured for Spock to stand up. "Sit on me, ride me." 

Spock seemed to understand exactly what Jim had in mind, and smoothly, albeit gingerly let Jim’s cock enter him, Spock facing away from Jim and out towards the window into the empty hangar. Jim's arms snaking around Spock's chest and grasped at Spock's nipples, Spock's own warm hands closing around Jim's as they moved as one, Jim thrusting up as much as he could, meeting with Spock's own movements, their moans almost harmonizing as the pressure in Jim's balls began to build, and build, and build, his face pressed into the small of Spock's back, his hands now nearly scratching around Spock's nipples as he pressed a kiss against Spock, tasting delicious sweat. 

And then Jim is pouring, he's pouring everything into Spock, every emotion from the years they have known one another, every glance, every conversation, every moment between them, all of this he feels thrust into the foreground of his mind as his cock continues to empty into Spock. He lets his right hand drop from Spock's chest to his cock, which is still hard, and Jim is teasing, thrusting, yanking, choking, pulling on Spock's cock, Spock moaning Jim’s name softly, until he feels warmth rush over his hand, hears Spock moan louder than he has this entire time, hears Spock moan three words that Jim cannot believe he's heard, and in that moment he's so ecstatic, he's so full of love, that he takes some of Spock's cum from his finger and lets his tongue brush over it, just to taste Spock's love, his physical love, in Jim's mouth. Spock loves Jim. He loves him. He loves him. 

Finally, after Jim has given one final thrust of Spock's cock, after Spock has collapsed against Jim's naked frame, after the two's breath has begun to reach normal levels, does either of them say anything. And the first one to speak is Spock, who repeats what he had in the heat of the moment.  
I love you. 

Jim’s eyes are wet again, and he lets the tears fall, lets himself smile as he repeats Spock’s words. 

I love you, Spock. Oh, how I've loved you.

And finally, Spock removes himself from Jim, and kneels down before Jim, but it's not to take Jim's cock into his mouth again—it's to press his lips once again to Jim's, it's to press his lips once again to Jim's jaw, Jim’s neck, Jim’s chest; it's to whisper the word T'hy'la into Jim's ear before taking a nip at Jim's lobe, Jim's arms wrapping around Spock once again as he breathes this new word, mixed with his old words, into the crook of Spock's neck. I love you, my T'hy'la. I love you.

He moves his head to catch his first officer’s lips once again, their kisses, ranging from chaste to kisses so fierce that Jim is afraid his face will bruise, continue for some time—how long Jim doesn't know. At this moment, he doesn't give a fuck about clocks, or time, or consequences. 

Because Spock loves him. 

Spock loves Jim. 

Eventually, as the pair grows weak from the energy exerted to consume one another, they’ve themselves as best they can, although Jim will have to remain shirtless thanks to his former first officer’s strength. But they are not done with each other. They cannot be. After five years of being apart, they want, they need five more minutes together, five more lifetimes together. They lay on the floor in front of the captain's chair, Spock laying on top of Jim, their kisses calm, pure, so full of love that Jim can barely believe this is real. No matter what the future held for them, Jim knew this was real. Now he knows why Spock was upset the day before—because Spock is in love with Jim. Jim’s smile widens at that realization, and as Spock kisses just below Jim's chin, Jim whispers the words for what must be the 50th time: I love you, Spock. 51. I love you.

Finally, even their kisses have died down, with Spock laying his head on Jim's chest, his mouth moving but no words coming out, Jim decides he has to ask.

“When did you first know?” he asks, his arms wrapped around Spock’s blue-clad frame, his face pressed into his former first officer’s hair, his lips kissing Spock’s earlobe, neck, chin, anywhere he can. If Hell was Jim and Spock remaining in this position forever, Jim would gladly burn. 

Finally, after a time, Spock pushes himself off of Jim’s chest and looks down at him, his eyes softer than Jim has ever seen them—even softer, Jim admits to himself, than they were when Uhura proposed. Spock uses a finger to trace Jim’s lips, which leaves a pleasurable trail in its wake. 

“I do not know if there is a fixed time,” he confesses as Jim presses a kiss to his finger. “Emotions can overtake one so suddenly, or can make such a smooth transition that the owner of those emotions does not register them until confronted by them, however that may be.” Spock cupped Jim’s cheek. “I cannot pinpoint it to the hour. It is not logical, but I almost believe that I have always loved you, Jim.” 

Jim smirks. “Even after I beat your stupid test?” 

Spock gives as much of a smile as a half-Vulcan can. “I definitely found you a fascinating specimen, to be sure. And while I did not show it, there was a respect there, for your tenacity and ability to solve problems, no matter how improbable they were, matter how inundated with those problems you became. It is what has kept so many crew members alive for his long.” As Spock stares at Jim his expression changes, and it’s not one of hunger, or love, but rather, deep respect. 

Jim nods, moving his own hand to cup Spock’s cheek in kind, Spock closing his hand over Jim’s and sighing into his touch. 

“And you?” Spock asks, lazily rubbing his thumb against Jim’s hand. 

Jim thinks on it, knowing that there was never an exact moment that he remembers falling in love. It just was. One day he did not love Spock, and the next day he was more in love than he’d ever been before—with anyone. 

However….

“When I died,” Jim finally says, and at those words Spock presses his lips to the skin just over Jim’s heart. “The idea of being apart from you…I can’t explain it. It wasn’t that I was scared of death, or whatever was beyond that. It was that I was scared of being apart from you. I mean, we didn’t even know each other that well, and yet that’s how I felt.” He feels a tear leave his eye. “And now, that’s still an inevitability, leaving you,” he admits. 

Spock’s expression hardens slightly at the realities of what has happened between the two men. Technically, Jim should be shocked that Spock would cheat—should look down on him, judge him, feel dirty. But he doesn’t. He only feels pain. 

“I wish I had told you sooner. Maybe things would be different if I had,” Jim says, and another tear escapes him. Spock kisses that away, too, before leaning in and taking Jim’s mouth one more time. He supposes he should pull away and they should talk about this, but there’s still time, however little that might be before the day breaks and hangar employees make their way onto the Enterprise. Before Uhura, wherever she is, wakes up. Jim just wonders if it’ll be with Spock, or alone. An unpleasant feeling enters his mind, and he realizes that Spock has picked up on his thoughts, unconsciously or not. Suddenly, Spock removes himself from Jim and sits up in one swift motion. Jim sits up, too, placing a hand on Spock’s arm. 

“This was a mistake,” Spock says in an indiscernible tone, and Jim feels himself freeze, his heart sinking as he removes his hand from Spock’s arm. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say. Knowing he can’t stomach any more pain, he moves to get up, but is stopped by a warm hand on his arm. 

“No,” Spock says emphatically. “I…it is not what I meant. I know logically I should not have done this, and yet…” Spock says nothing else, and Jim can’t think of anything else to say back; this mess they’ve created is not something that can just be cleaned up right now, in this moment. So instead they make love, soft and sweetly, until even Spock is spent, until the first pricks of sunlight begin to crawl their way into the hangar, until they know that this is it. 

They put their clothes on in silence, still unsure of what to say. Their declarations of love came so easily only hours before, but now Jim worries that if he says anything he will implode. So he doesn’t. Spock doesn’t either. And just as Jim heads for the lift, a hand wrapped around his wrist stops him. Spock brings Jim over to Spock’s chest, Jim mirroring Uhura the night before, his head in the crook of Spock’s neck. He wraps his arms around his first officer in an embrace, assuming that an intimate hug is how the pair will finish the evening.

And then Spock is grabbing Kirk’s right hand, extending it with his own, Jim’s other arm still wrapped tightly around Spock’s waist, and Spock mirroring this. And then Spock moves his feet, slowly at first, and Jim is confused by what exactly is going on, when suddenly he feels a reverberation from Spock’s mouth, as though Spock is talking. No, not talking.

Humming. Spock is humming. 

Dancing. He and Jim are dancing. 

It is Jim’s turn to dance with Spock. At this realization, Jim fights tears as he burrows his head deeper in the crook of Spock’s neck, a mix of sweat and something spicy he can’t quite place greeting his nose as he presses a light kiss to Spock’s neck, Spock’s natural warmth keeping him from shivering, considering his ruined top. The rumble of Spock’s low hum, which don’t seem to resemble any song he’s familiar with, feel like home, and he allows all of his heartbreak, worry, anything else outside of the two of them dancing, to fall away. Finally, after a few minutes, the humming stops, and Jim removes his head from Spock’s neck to look at Spock, who wordlessly angles his head and meets Jim’s lips with a warm, slow, burning kiss. It’s not a kiss that will lead to anything else. 

It’s a goodbye kiss. And they both know it. Jim wraps his arms around Spock, harder than he has this entire time, willing his skin to melt into Spock’s so that the two can become one. It’s the only way that Jim will ever get enough of Spock. And even then it won’t suffice. His lips leave Spock’s and continues pressing kisses to Spock’s forehead, eyelids, cheeks, which Jim is surprised to find are wet. He kisses away each tear, savoring their salty flavor. Spock does the same, pressing a kiss to nearly every inch of Jim’s face, before the pair’s lips meet again, and it’s not enough, never enough, Jim wants all of Spock, all of him, Forever.

And then it’s over.

Spock leaves the lift first, Jim’s last image of him a pair of wet, deep brown eyes conveying emotions that words never could. And the doors close, and once again it’s just Jim Kirk, sitting in a captain’s chair, sobbing. Five years of memories in five minutes. Five years of love in five hours with Spock. 

He finally heads for the lift, composing himself as he exits the empty Enterprise. Just before stepping off the ship, he stops and splays his finger against her metal, the coldness of it so different from the warmth of Spock’s body. And yet, for Jim Kirk, they are both home. 

“Never lose you.”


End file.
